


Hypothetically: Witches

by JenNova



Series: Famous Last Words [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Future Fic, M/M, witches made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/JenNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can't tell how long it's been since Morgan hurled his curse. He's come twice by his own hand in an effort to take the edge off but it hasn't helped at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothetically: Witches

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back after a brief holiday&moving hiatus. It's possibly a little strange to go back and respond to comments now so to all the commenters on Faeries can I just say how much you made my weekend (and my friends' as well, given they got to enjoy me being amazed by how many of you there were).
> 
> We're about half way through the series now.
> 
> As usual: see the end notes for a description of the dub-con.

College is awesome. College is so unbelievably awesome. Not only does Stiles discover that in college they _definitely_ like the weird ones – and how! - but it's actually incredibly awesome to be somewhere with a bunch of people that are _like him_. His roommate from freshman year had once handed in an English paper about the rise and fall of Harry Potter fanfiction. For an assignment about Shakespeare. No fewer than three people he met on the first day were his level _or above_ in WoW. He even meets a few other humans with werewolf besties. He can't believe it.

Derek finds it quietly amusing, Stiles can tell, during their weekly phonecalls. They co-ordinate information about the pack – because there's things people tell Stiles they won't tell Derek and vice-versa but both of them need to know. Stiles isn't sure how he ended up being Derek's Number Two (Number One has been Boyd since Peter Again) but it's sort of a nice place to be. He's never really worried about his place in the pack but it's hard to deny the little spark of pleasure he gets when Erica calls him to complain about Isaac, or Jackson calls to find out what he's done to piss Derek off this time.

Stiles is also the aggregator of anything freaky anyone deals with in their various parts of the country. He and Danny gave everyone their own passwords for the Cloud Bestiary but no-one else bothers to update it – preferring instead to send Stiles the details. If he's honest with himself he actually prefers it that way, the one time Scott tried to add something to the database he broke it so entirely Danny practically had to rebuild it from the code up.

So the first couple of years of college are pretty great. Stiles has _a lot_ of sex freshman year – many times in many different positions, just like he'd been telling Scott he wanted for years. It's sort of a revelation being the object of sexual attraction. He wonders sometimes if that's what it's like to be Derek – but unlike Derek he does something with it.

Okay, that's maybe unfair. Stiles goes home for summer to find Derek quietly dating a girl from one of his community college classes (“Have you made friends Derek? I could honestly not be prouder if I tried right now.”). Tasha's dark and pretty and a shifter too, so clued in on the whole werewolf thing. It's good for Derek on a lot of levels and it makes Stiles happy to see Derek getting some pleasure out of life.

Sophomore year Stiles decides to forgo the casual sex and tries his hand at his first proper college relationship. He dates a girl from out of state, Helena, who has her hair dyed three different colours during the three months they date. He wants to make a Scott Pilgrim joke but she's the least nerdy person he knows and he has a feeling it'd go past her, which is a shame because she is _at least_ as hot as Ramona Flowers. They wrap up sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas because even though the sex is great and they like each other a lot they don't quite click together perfectly. Stiles isn't looking for perfection so it doesn't hurt as much as it probably should. He doesn't have time to wallow, anyway, because Allison and Scott implode, again, just in time for the holidays and Stiles spends winter break soothing Scott's broken heart. Again.

Somewhere in there Derek and Tasha break up as well but Derek doesn't seem too cut up about it. On Skype with Stiles he just mostly looks pleased with himself for having a relationship that didn't end in anything getting burnt down. New Year's Eve is celebrated by the whole pack and associated families and friends. Stiles spends most of the night leaning against Derek and watching his Dad and Melissa McCall navigate around each other like guilty teenagers. It's about time, and Scott agrees with him, and they both arrange to stay the night elsewhere just in case the night works its magic on their parents.

Stiles is barely back at college for a week when he _literally_ runs into Alex. Alex is shorter than him, geekier than him, but also relentlessly adorable in a way that Stiles falls for pretty much immediately. Alex is asexual, which is a new sort of relationship for Stiles to find himself in, and they spend a ludicrous amount of time playing video games and watching cult British TV. This is when Stiles finally sees Spaced and finds out where Derek's favourite Stiles-based expression 'skip to the end' comes from. Derek laughs at him, which is no longer rare enough for Stiles to want to keep a tally of it and yet, before confessing that Laura had made him watch it when they were younger. Stiles' heart still skips a beat whenever Derek lets him see a bit of his past.

The Hale pack reducing down to a population of two makes Beacon Hills less of a magnet for trouble and Stiles only gets called back for emergencies once or twice. Turns out having a Dad with a risk of heart disease makes an excellent excuse for getting out of classes for a week here or there. A better excuse than 'turns out the lake in the Preserve is home to homicidal merpeople' or 'funny story – one of my best friends pissed off a bunch of witches and they keep causing trouble every few months'.

Derek won't kill the witches – this is at least partially because killing any sort of human, even one that keeps magically fucking with him, will break the Argent treaty and partially because he doesn't like hurting humans. Not all werewolves are like that but Stiles finds out that there's a network of packs across the country who work hard to keep their kind under the radar. They all have similar moral codes about humans. It's why the bite is supposed to be offered and never forced on people.

The Bestiary portal has a counter on it and over spring break they celebrate one hundred days without supernatural mayhem erupting in Beacon Hills. It's only Derek, Isaac, Erica and Stiles – Scott and Allison, back together again, are over on the east coast with Lydia and Jackson, Boyd and Danny. Danny Skypes them in and it's great but not perfect – Stiles can't wait for summer because Derek's 'all my pack are so far away' melancholy has started rubbing off on him and he misses _everyone_ all the time. It's ridiculous.

Stiles thinks about creating a counter for Berkeley too when he gets caught up in the local pack's business for the first time since college started. Colleges and their immediate surroundings are considered neutral territories – too many supernatural people around for treaties to not be endlessly complicated – but that doesn't stop the Bay pack from breaking into the apartment he shares with an interstate werewolf and her human boyfriend to beg Stiles to help them. On the one hand – yay! Fame! On the other hand – he ends up covered in fish guts because, guess what? Merpeople again. Climate change has a lot to answer for, that's all Stiles will say. He sprains a wrist and has bruises all down one side of his neck. People side-eye him for a while.

Somewhere between that and finals and packing stuff up for summer Stiles loses Alex as a boyfriend. They stay friends but Alex says he can't deal with all the distractions that come with whatever sideline Stiles has going on. Stiles does feel sad about that and maybe for the first time since that hellish first six months he regrets the werewolf stuff. Then Derek surprises him the following weekend by showing up to drag him out and get him drunk. It's normally Scott's job as BFF but Scott's too busy with his own finals to get away. Stiles doesn't mind – there'd been a point where he was genuinely worried Scott wouldn't make it to college for _many_ werewolf related reasons – there's no way he's going to get mad about Scott wanting to do well.

“It's the thing, right, the thing,” Stiles says, poking Derek's arm. “The principal. Principle.”

“Why do I have a feeling that you just said that twice to correct the spelling in your head?” Derek asks, covering half a smile with his mouth. Stiles makes a face at him.

“Correct spelling is important even if only you can see it,” Stiles says, wagging a finger at Derek. “D'you know I could've been a Spelling Bee champion?”

“No, I didn't know that,” Derek says, still covering his smile. Which isn't fair because Stiles really likes seeing his smile, even though he doesn't have to count them anymore, and he shouldn't be hiding it. He pulls at Derek's arm until he drops his hand.

“Better,” Stiles mutters to himself before running a hand through his hair and finding his way back to his topic. “I could've, right? Except, like, the ADHD. Man. I had this habit of spelling words which were not the words given to me.”

“Bet you spelled them perfectly though,” Derek says, his smile warm and knowing. Stiles grins at him, so hard his face actually hurts a bit.

“S'right,” he says, nodding heavily. “I am _awesome_ at spelling. I can spell anything. Try me.”

“That's okay,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I believe you.”

“Yeah you do,” Stiles says, shooting finger guns at Derek. “That's why I like you so much. You always believe me. You listen. Even Scott doesn't listen all the time. Four years! And he still doesn't believe I'm always right.”

“You're not _always_ right,” Derek says, tilting his head to one side. It's the most lupine thing he does and Stiles always gets this urge to, like, ruffle his hair or something when he does. Which is ridiculous. It probably wouldn't do anything to Derek's hair, though, the amount of product he totally pretends he doesn't use on it. Always with the perfect bed hair - actually, not bed hair, really, Stiles has seen Derek's bed hair and it doesn't look like that. Derek should make his hair look like his sex hair because his sex hair is _awesome_ , all tousled and askew and wild looking, just like Derek.

“Please stop touching my hair, Stiles,” Derek heaves out a sigh and Stiles blinks, realising he's been trailing his fingers through Derek's hair for the past minute. He takes his hand back and smiles sheepishly. Derek bumps his shoulder, telling him it's okay, and reaches for Stiles' abandoned glass of whatever the hell they've been drinking since they got back to the apartment.

“What was I talking about?” Stiles asks, drawing his legs up and resting his head on his knees. He watches Derek drink and tries not to think about that one time Derek had Stiles' cock in his mouth. It's easier to not think about it when he's not drunk, his brain gets all loose and floaty and wordy.

“The principle,” Derek says, shrugging. “Not sure what principle though.”

“Oh, yes, yeah, the principle,” Stiles says, catching onto the right train of thought again. “So – I lost Danny even though he knew about the werewolf thing -”

“I thought you were okay with that?” Derek asks, concern pushing his eyebrows down in the centre. Stiles pushes them back up with a finger.

“I was. I am. Totally okay,” more okay now than he was back then, but it was his first break-up so he's allowed to be a little maudlin about it sometimes. “And I lost Alex because he _didn't_ know about the werewolf thing. So the principle of thing is – is – I don't what it is but it sucks anyway.”

“Maybe you should date a werewolf,” Derek says, one corner of his mouth twisting up. “Could solve your problems?”

“Pffft,” Stiles waves a hand. “It's not the werewolves that are the problem. It's everything else. The kanimas and the whatever the hell Gerard turned into and the _fucking merpeople_ and the witches with grudges because _someone_ won't just _apologise_ for being a _dick_.”

“They started it,” Derek protests, the same way he always does. He frowns and Stiles sighs, backing off the subject again.

“I don't know, Derek,” Stiles says, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. The subject of conversation is starting to sober him up and that sucks. “Maybe I'll find someone who can deal eventually. S'not going to be easy, though.”

“You could -” Derek stops himself, blows out a breath that brushes against Stiles' face. “You could always pull out of all of this. You don't have to – you're not tied to us the same way as everyone else is. You know you're always free to go.”

“I know that,” Stiles says, opening his eyes and tipping his head to one side so he can meet Derek's eyes. “That's why I stay.”

Derek's eyes are bright with all of the stuff they never have to say to each other – that Stiles will always come back because he wants to, that Derek will always have Stiles' back because he cares, that their faith in each other is half of what keeps the pack together. Stiles reaches a hand up and tugs Derek in, baring his neck so Derek can scent him. Derek's breath is warm against his skin as he breathes him in and Stiles feels his whole body go soft and relaxed.

They sleep in their clothes and emerge from Stiles' room to Mark making half-assed pancakes. Mark's eyes widen a little as he looks Derek over and Stiles covers a grin with a yawn because even straight guys can't resist checking Derek out. Derek disappears into the bathroom and Stiles slumps into one of the wooden kitchen chairs. Sash appears to press kisses against the back of Mark's neck and Stiles looks away as she rubs her cheeks against him to mark him – she doesn't normally but Derek's presence has thrown her off a little, Stiles can tell.

“Dude,” Mark says when their pipes bang into life to deliver water to the bathroom sink. “Your secret boyfriend is terrifyingly hot.”

Stiles flushes, which is ridiculous, and gapes for a moment, not used to anyone assuming that about Derek. Sash snorts and steals one of the cooked pancakes, rolling it up and taking a huge bite.

“That's not his boyfriend,” she says around the mouthful. “S'his Alpha.”

“Oh,” Mark says, his own cheeks going pink with embarrassment. “I didn't know. That's Derek?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, mouth twitching up into a smile. “Hey, sorry Sash, I didn't know he was coming. Are you okay?”

“A little on edge,” she admits, rubbing a hand over Mark's back. “But I'm okay. He mostly smells of you right now, and I've smelled him on you before, so it's not too bad.”

“I'll try to give more warning next time,” Derek says, appearing silently around the corner because once a lurkerwolf _always_ a lurkerwolf. Stiles shakes his head at him as Mark jumps from surprise.

Derek stays for pancakes and he and Sash talk about pack politics. Normally Stiles would be fascinated but he's a little dull from the alcohol and he's still aching a bit in Alex-related ways. Alex had loved Mark's pancakes. He'll get it all from Derek when he's in a better mood – he and Danny are starting to build a database on all the packs they've interacted with or heard about, he hasn't told Derek about it yet because it's a dangerous sort of thing to have in existence, and info on Sash's pack is always welcome. The database is on a flashdrive they're posting back and forth under assumed names, having Derek for an Alpha teaches a certain kind of a paranoia, and Stiles currently has it hidden in his room.

When it's time to leave Stiles tells Derek he'll see him in a month, all going well at home, and waves him off. It feels a little like tempting fate, to be honest, but false sense of security and all that.

–

Derek can't tell how long it's been since Morgan hurled his curse. He's come twice by his own hand in an effort to take the edge off but it hasn't helped at all. He's curled on his side on his bed and his room stinks of come and desperation and sweat and he thinks he's the closest he's been to crying since the fire. His body _hurts_ with the need to fuck something and he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin.

He wants to blame Stiles for this but he can't think about him without the curse in his system diverting his thoughts into lurid fantasies that just make the pain worse. Derek can't think about anyone without that happening. It's still Stiles' fault though – he was the one who tempted fate and fate likes nothing better than fucking with Derek's life. He shudders and his still hard cock brushes against the bed covers, making him moan.

“Fuck,” he says, rolling onto his back and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. His hips rock a little without any input from his brain and he forces himself still.

There's footsteps at the edge of his hearing – Erica's light tread, her boots smacking against the hardwood flooring, and the familiar shifting, shuffling steps of -

“Stiles,” Derek sits up and stares at his bedroom door. It's locked from the outside and Erica has the key, the only packmember in town because she finished up early for summer and Isaac's visiting Scott.

Just briefly thinking about his pack gives Derek a flurry of images to fight against, curling over himself in disgust at the vivid realism of them. He takes deep breaths against his knees.

“Derek?” Stiles' voice and his weight making the warped floorboard outside Derek's door creak. It's enough to make him calmer, just listening to all the familiar sounds of Stiles, and he manages to get off the bed and lean against the door.

“This is your fault,” Derek says, spreading his fingers against the wood like he can reach through it.

“In my defence,” Stiles says, laughter edging into his voice. “You brought at least some of this on yourself by cracking that joke about getting whammied over and over again last time.”

Derek snorts and presses his forehead against the door. He can feel Stiles leaning against the other side, can almost see him in his mind's eye – tall and confident, his hair still messy and longer than he usually wears it, like it was last time Derek saw him, the pink Cupid's bow of his mouth, the long neck and -

Derek knocks his forehead against the door to stop that train of thought.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Derek asks. He knows he's lost track of time but it's not even night yet, there's no way Stiles could be here already.

“So, okay, don't get mad at her,” Stiles says and Derek can see him waving his hands around. “But I'm pretty sure Erica stole your credit card and chartered a plane. Actually. I know she did.”

“ _Erica_ ,” Derek bites out, forcing back an image of Erica and Stiles letting him take them apart.

“Look, this is worse than it's ever been, Derek,” Erica says, her voice certain. “I had to do something. I'll pay you back if you want.”

“No, I have the money,” Derek says. Renovating the house hadn't even dented the six year's worth of interest on the life insurance payments from the fire.

“Will you be okay?” Erica asks Stiles and Derek hears Stiles hum an affirmative. “Derek?”

“Stay near enough to -” _stop me if I hurt him_ , Derek doesn't say. “And thank you.”

“Any time, boss,” Erica says. Derek can imagine her saluting at the door.

“So how bad is it?” Stiles asks quietly. Derek makes a pained noise.

“Everything hurts the longer I don't fuck something,” Derek says, pushing against the door hard enough to make it shift in the frame.

“Yeah,” he can hear Stiles moving, a key sliding into the lock. “That is a lot worse than usual.”

Derek pulls away from the door, energy rushing through him at Stiles' proximity. He steps back until he can sit down on the bed, digging his fingers into his own thighs to stop himself from leaping on Stiles.

Stiles opens the door slowly, like he's expecting Derek to jump him, and there's a sharp scent of wolfsbane cutting through the air. The mace. Derek wants to laugh but he can't, his body hurts too much. Stiles stands in the doorway for a long moment, just looking at Derek. Derek is embarrassed by everything his room is right now but there's an itching gathering under his skin the longer Stiles looks at him – he wants to take.

“Okay,” Stiles says and Derek sees a brief flash of Erica's hair as she tugs the door shut behind Stiles. The lock clicks loudly in the silence.

“You look like shit,” Stiles says, pulling his plaid overshirt off. Derek laughs weakly.

“Yeah,” he says. He watches Stiles move around the room, watches the mace get dropped onto a pillow along with a knife. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles over that.

“Gift from the Bay pack,” Stiles says off-handedly as he tugs his t-shirt over his head. “You're always complaining that I don't carry a weapon. I'm not going to use it on you.”

Derek knows Stiles has a concealed carry permit, courtesy of his Dad, but that he refuses to carry a gun. It's a little amazing to him that Stiles has finally listened to him about carrying a knife instead – but considering Stiles won't talk about what happened with the merpeople down there he figures something's changed.

Stiles sits on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes, his back bending in a way that makes Derek's mouth go dry. It shouldn't even be a sexual act but before Derek can stop himself he's kneeling behind Stiles and setting his teeth against the base of Stiles' neck. Stiles stills.

“Don't make me change my mind about the knife,” Stiles says softly, reaching a hand around to press against Derek's thigh. Derek rocks back, his hands still gripping Stiles' sides.

“Sorry,” he says, aching with an urge to claim Stiles. “I can't – it's hard to control it this time.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that,” Stiles says, straightening and kicking his shoes off. “It's okay. I trust you not to hurt me.”

“You can't just say that,” Derek says, so quietly he's surprised when Stiles twists in his grip to grab his face. Stiles forces eye contact.

“I can,” Stiles says, shaking Derek lightly. “Because I believe it. We're going to be okay.”

“Why does this keep happening?” Derek asks, leaning forward until he can rest his forehead against Stiles' bare shoulder. Stiles laughs.

“We're just lucky, I guess,” he says, carding a hand through Derek's hair. “Let me up so I can finish getting undressed.”

Derek releases Stiles and moves up the bed to sit against the headboard. There's already lube sitting on the bed from the two times Derek's jerked off and just seeing it sets of an assault of images of Stiles on his knees and begging for Derek to fuck him. Derek flinches from his own mind and closes his eyes again, grinding his hands against them until he sees stars.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles says, suddenly in front of him and pulling his hands down. “Don't hurt yourself. We'll get through this.”

Stiles wipes his hand across Derek's forehead and it comes away bloody. Derek hadn't even noticed his claws coming out. He takes a few shallow breaths, nose twitching at the blood-sweet smell now permeating the air. Stiles wipes his hand off and then cups it around the back of Derek's neck, drawing him in for a soft kiss. Derek makes a desperate noise at the contact and brings his hands up cradle Stiles' head, deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue.

Stiles tugs at him until Derek lies down with him; their bodies crossways on the bed, Stiles beneath him and rocking gently against him as they kiss. Stiles slides his hands down Derek's back and grips at Derek's ass, using the grip to bring them closer together. Derek finds the kiss broken and himself breathing into Stiles' mouth. Stiles is making quiet shushing noises as Derek shudders from the sudden onslaught of sensation.

“You said you need to fuck something,” Stiles says against his mouth, their noses bumping together. “I'm guessing that was literal.”

“Yes,” Derek says and his voice is rough and broken open. He lets out a shaky breath. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Stiles swats at him gently. “I like it just as much as you do.”

That surprises a laugh out of Derek and some of the tension in the room dissipates. Derek wonders if he's imagining it himself because he's terrified of the power Stiles is giving over to him by agreeing to this. If Derek loses control it's going to be a lot harder for Stiles to get away from him with Derek inside him.

“Come on then,” Stiles pushes at Derek's shoulders until he raises up and they can look at each other. “My body is ready. Well. Not really. But I'm ready to be ready.”

“You're sure,” Derek says, laying a hand over Stiles' heart. It's such a familiar gesture to both of them that it goes a long way to calming Derek's racing pulse.

“Yes,” Stiles covers Derek's hand briefly with one of his own. “Now get on with it. It's a been a while for me so it might take some time.”

“Why am I not surprised you're still pushy when you're on the bottom,” Derek says, mostly to himself. Stiles laughs as Derek pulls away and reaches for the lube.

Stiles is only half hard, _because he's not a teenager anymore_ , so Derek settles between his legs and takes Stiles' cock into his mouth. Stiles makes a cut-off noise and grabs for Derek's head, twisting his hands into Derek's hair and tugging.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, which Derek was pretty much waiting for. “Of _course_ you want me to be hard for this. Derek Hale is a _considerate lover_.”

There's an edge to Stiles' voice that Derek doesn't like – that suggests that Stiles has been with guys that don't try to make sure he can get off as well. Stiles deserves better than that, better than this. Derek swirls his tongue around the head of Stiles' cock and Stiles arches up under his touch. It's heady. Stiles makes needy little noises in the back of his throat as Derek takes him down as far as he can again and again. When Derek pulls off with a filthy popping sound Stiles protests by digging his fingers into Derek's hair.

“Sorry,” he says when Derek can't stop himself from smirking up at him. “I told you it's been a while.”

“It's okay,” Derek says, licking a last stripe up Stiles' cock. He reaches for the lube and slicks his fingers up. “I get it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles pulls his hands back and fists them into the covers when Derek traces a finger around his hole. “King of the dry spell, I guess.”

“Something like that,” Derek acknowledges, breaching the tight ring of muscle. Stiles lets out a breathy moan and Derek dips his head to press a kiss against Stiles' thigh.

“It's not that it's a big – deal,” Stiles sentence breaks as Derek slides his finger all the way in. “I didn't mind not having sex – I had years with just my hand after all – but I missed it sometimes.”

“I missed it,” Derek says, watching Stiles' hips hitch and shift as he fingers into him. “When – after Kate it was hard for me to trust anyone with that for a long time. My body knew what sex was, though. Craved it.”

“I got the, ah, the impression from Scott,” Stiles says as Derek draws back and starts circling a second finger. “That you guys are pretty highly sexed. I invested in some pretty good headphones when I moved in with Sash.”

“It's the basest instinct people have,” Derek says, pausing to look up at Stiles. “For us it's multiplied by ten. Controllable though. At least as an adult.”

“Oh, right?” Stiles huffs out a breath as Derek works two fingers into him. “Scott and Allison were fucking like rabbits at one point. He used to make fun of me for jerking off twice a day.”

The curse brings Derek several sharply focused images of Stiles doing that, jerking off on his bed and in the shower, pink flushed skin and fluttering eyes and his longs fingers tight around his cock. Derek shakes his head to free himself and focuses on crooking his fingers at just the right moment. Stiles gasps and bears down, his feet pressing hard into the bed on either side of Derek. Derek ruts down against the bed before he can stop himself.

“Ugh, why are you so good at everything?” Stiles says, rocking his hips down against the easy thrusts of Derek's fingers.

“I'm not, really,” Derek says, licking his lips and drowning in the feel of Stiles' heat.

“Okay, no,” Stiles says. “I guess you're not good at _everything_ but you're pretty fucking great at fuck-”

His voice breaks off as Derek presses a third finger into his asshole. One of his hands comes free from the covers and grips Derek's shoulder, squeezing as he pushes down onto Derek's hand. Stiles is hot and tight and perfect and Derek's cock throbs at the idea of being buried in that. Derek moves up Stiles' body, keeping a steady rhythm, and kisses him. It's wet and dirty and hot and Stiles twists his fingers into Derek's hair to hold him close. Their cocks bump together and Derek wants nothing more than to grind down against that friction. He stops himself. Just.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles breaks the kiss and pushes at him. “I'm good – I am so good – I just, I really need you to be in me.”

Derek nods, thinking the Stiles of three years ago would never have been able to say something like that without flushing with embarrassment. This Stiles stares up at him with heat in his eyes and the scent of his arousal thick in the air. Derek pulls his fingers out and Stiles whines slightly at the lack.

“How do you want me?” Stiles asks as Derek digs in his bedside drawer for a condom. Derek freezes as too many options fly through his mind at once.

“Uh,” he says and Stiles laughs.

“Okay, big guy, let's do this the easy way then,” Derek feels the bed shift and looks up to see Stiles arranging himself on hands and knees, moving pillows around until he's satisfied.

“Yeah, that's, uh, that's good,” Derek says, his mouth suddenly dry and his voice hoarse. He finds a condom and tears the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on with shaking fingers.

“You still hurting from this?” Stiles as Derek moves to kneel behind him. Derek smooths his hands over Stiles' ass before answering.

“It's there but it's not as bad,” Derek says, using his hands to separate Stiles' legs a little more. He holds Stiles' cheeks apart with one hand and sets his cock against Stiles' entrance.

“I'm sure,” Stiles says before Derek can even ask him. He looks over his shoulder at Derek and Derek really can't deal with the trust in Stiles' eyes, doesn't know how he deserves it. Stiles' eyes narrow at him. “Are you sure?”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Derek says. “But I want to fuck you.”

“Then it's okay,” Stiles says. He reaches a hand back to Derek's cock and holds it in place as he slides back onto it. Derek has to close his eyes because the image is frying his brain.

“It's okay,” Stiles repeats softly when Derek's in, his balls touching Stiles' skin. Stiles pushes up and back a little until Derek takes the hint and pulls Stiles into sitting against his thighs, Stiles' back against his chest.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Okay.”

Stiles twists his neck around, the angle awkward, and kisses Derek gently, chastely. It's the complete opposite of everything they're doing and so tender it makes Derek shiver. Stiles pulls away again and falls forward, burying himself in the pillows in front of him.

“Come on then,” Stiles says, looking back at him again. “Show me what you've got.”

Derek feels the smile spread across his face at the challenge and Stiles answers it. Stiles' heartbeat is rapid with arousal and nothing more. Derek grips Stiles' hips and pulls out enough to thrust back in with a roll of his hips. Stiles moans, his mouth falling open, and Derek's smile goes a little sharper. He can do this.

This he can do.

It's going to be embarrassingly short, too, if Derek keeps watching his cock disappearing into Stiles' ass so he moves, draping himself over Stiles' back. He presses open kisses against Stiles' neck and Stiles' breath hitches in his throat, rocking his hips back into Derek's thrusts.

“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles mutters, tilting his head so Derek has better access. “I swear you're all responsible for my neck kink.”

“You were the one that spent hours researching how we have sex instead of just asking,” Derek says, burying a laugh in Stiles' skin. He remembers the night he'd rolled through Stiles' window, desperate for the sense of safety Stiles' room gave him, and found Stiles flushed red and trying to hide the tabs open in his browser.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says. “Don't remind me. That was the worst night ever. I had the biggest boner when you jumped into my room.”

“I know,” Derek says, sucking a mark into the base of Stiles' neck. “I wanted to tell you to do something about it but I thought it'd be rude.”

“I think I probably would've died of embarrassment if you had,” Stiles says, looking at Derek from the corner of his eyes.

“I grew up in a house of werewolves,” Derek shrugs and lifts himself away from Stiles' back. “I never would've been able to jerk off if I didn't get over the thought of someone hearing me.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says again. This time it's because Derek's shifted enough that he's caught the perfect angle. “Just there. Right there.”

Stiles reaches a hand under himself, propping himself against the headboard, and starts working himself in time with Derek's thrusts. Derek lets out the moans that have been building in his chest and speeds up, driving Stiles further up the bed. He tries to remember to hold back, worried about using too much force. Stiles is human, he reminds himself. _Human_.

“Are you close?” Derek asks, tightening his grip on Stiles' hips. Stiles nods, beyond words, his hand moving hard and fast around his cock.

Derek's not worried about finishing at the same time as Stiles but he's determined that Stiles will come first. He drives his hips in and grinds slightly, hitting Stiles' sweet spot with as much momentum as he can. Stiles jerks and shudders under his hands, his whole body tensing and releasing in a wave, his ass clenching hot and tight around Derek's cock. Derek grunts and holds himself still as Stiles' orgasm works through him.

“Okay,” Stiles breathes after moment. “Keep going.”

Derek's thrusts after that are ill-timed and inexpert and he doesn't care, losing himself in the feel of Stiles closing around him and holding him tight. There's so much safety and trust in Stiles and Derek hates thinking about it, about what it means, but sometimes it's impossible not to. About how Derek can't ever lose him, can barely stand to share him with the rest of the world, and how much he needs him. Derek fucks through the feelings threatening to make themselves known and finally, _finally_ , shudders to his third release of the day, falling over Stiles' back to kiss against he mark he made earlier.

Stiles gives way the moment Derek stops, weak laughter at Derek's huffed breath of surprise making his body shake. Derek wants to stay like this forever because the prickling hurt of the curse has finally gone away. As strong as Stiles is, though, there's no way taking the full weight of Derek against the bed is going to end in anything other than suffocation. Derek eases out of Stiles and flops onto his back, resting a forearm against his forehead and breathing slowly while his heartrate goes down.

Stiles lifts himself up enough to roll onto his side, grimacing at the wet patch he's made, and stretches. He looks up to meet Derek's eyes and smiles slowly, ducking his head. Derek rolls his eyes and pushes him over. Stiles laughs.

“God, I'm sorry,” Stiles says, looking up at the ceiling and still smiling. “That was just – really good. For me. Good for you?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, pulling the condom off and making a face at it as he ties it off. “Even though the reason is fucked up.”

“Erica didn't really know what had happened,” Stiles says and Derek can feel eyes on his back as he stands. “She said she found you like this?”

“Morgan cursed me,” Derek says shortly, tossing the condom into the wastebasket in the bathroom. “I got back to the house before it took effect.”

“Morgan cursed -” Stiles makes a huge noise of frustration. “You know what? No. I am done with this shit. Get in the shower.”

“What?” Derek turns to Stiles, now standing in the doorway, and frowns at him. “Why?”

“Because I am fixing this,” Stiles says, pointing at Derek. “I'm tired of this vendetta.”

“He started it,” Derek says, stepping back from the anger Stiles is giving off in waves.

“You keep saying that!” Stiles says, his voice rising him volume. “But you won't _tell me how_. So I'm finishing it. Get in the shower.”

Derek does. Stiles disappears to use one of the other bathrooms because _of course_ he had a key to Derek's room. Derek only needed the illusion of locked in, there was no way Stiles was going to risk his life by trapping himself in a room with an out of control Derek. It should make him angry but it doesn't – it's a reminder that Stiles always knows what he's doing, even if Derek doesn't.

Derek can hear Stiles crashing angrily around the bathroom next to Isaac's room as he ducks under the spray of his own shower. Stiles actually doesn't get angry very often, at least not on the surface, and Derek never knows what to do with him when he does. Derek is used to being the angry one. Stiles is a calm surface over emotions that not even Derek can decipher much of the time. So when Stiles is angry, and specifically when he's angry at Derek, Derek finds himself doing what Stiles tells him to do. It goes against most of his werewolf instincts and that should worry him. It should.

Stiles is downstairs by the time Derek's washed the smell of sex off himself and dressed in clean clothes. Stiles is wearing the same clothes he travelled in, smelling of stale plane air, and he's scowling at his phone. He looks up and jerks his head toward the front door, leading off without a word. The silence continues as they climb into the Camaro and it makes something itch under Derek's skin.

He's never told Stiles what started the feud with Morgan's witches because: at first he was embarrassed by his reaction, and then it went on too long for him to explain without risking, well, exactly what Stiles is doing now. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel and frowns at the road. If he doesn't tell Stiles before they get there it's not going to be good.

“Fuck,” Derek mutters to himself. Stiles looks at him sharply. “They wanted you. Access to you. Or something.”

“They -” Stiles lets out a long breath. “Are you _kidding_ me? This is _another_ territorial pissing contest over me? You deciding what I do never works, Derek, you should know that by now.”

“Morgan is wrong,” Derek says, tightening his fingers around the wheel. “He feels wrong, Stiles, and I didn't like the idea of him near you.”

“Couldn't have let me make that decision for myself?” Stiles asks, anger still casting his body in tense lines. “My instincts are pretty good.”

“I know they are,” Derek says.

“Because, I mean, I was right about Matt,” Stiles continues. “And when Peter had the rest of you fooled I was the only one who sided with Lydia. You can't just – I know what I'm doing. You don't get to -”

“I. Know,” Derek bites out. “I just - it wasn't long after the merpeople and you were – you'd been hurt that time – and I was -”

“What?” Stiles asks, stiff and staring. Derek wants to stop the car and run away from the conversation. He hasn't had this urge since his pack were teenagers.

“I was afraid,” Derek says. “Afraid he'd take you away from us. Just like the faeries wanted to do. Just like everything seems to want to.”

Stiles doesn't say anything and Derek drives on, taking the cross town route that will bring them to the coven's carved out patch of territory.

“You're my pack,” Stiles says when Derek stops the car on the edge of the territory. “I'm never leaving you guys.”

“I -” Derek begins but Stiles throws a hand out to cover his mouth.

“So help me, Derek, if you say you 'know' one more time I am going to – do something, I don't know,” Stiles' glare is fierce and Derek wants to back away from it. “You obviously don't know. No matter how many times I tell you. I know you've got a lot of buried deep issues, dude, because I share more than a few of them with you – but you've got to realise at least one thing. Just one.”

Stiles stares at him expectantly and takes his hand away. He's waiting for Derek to say something and Derek – Derek doesn't know what to say. Stiles is too important to everything his life is right now. Stiles tilts his head. Derek breathes out.

_Oh._

“You'll never leave,” Derek says, eyes widening. Stiles nods, his mouth quirking up into a smile.

“That's it,” Stiles says, reaching out and taking one of Derek's hands in his. “I went away for college but I'm coming back. You guys are my family, just as much as Dad, and Stilinskis don't abandon their family. No matter how hard it gets.”

Stiles squeezes his hand and Derek squeezes back. Derek smiles, hesitantly, and Stiles echoes it. Stiles releases his hand and cuffs him across the shoulder.

“You're such an idiot,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “You're lucky I don't challenge you for Alpha.”

“Boyd's next in line,” Derek says, frowning. Stiles laughs and Derek finds himself joining in, not knowing why but enjoying it anyway.

“Okay,” Stiles says, putting hand on the door handle. “Let's go and deal with Morgan and the Witches. Hopefully for the last time. Because I really am tired of this shit.”

They get out of the car and walk to the line Isaac has spraypainted onto the road to mark the boundary. The coven has made it so that werewolves can't cross the line without permission. It's a spell Derek wishes someone in his pack could work – but even Stiles' spark isn't enough. Trying to cross the line will set off an alarm and bring the coven running.

“Hey,” Stiles says, catching Derek's elbow before he tries to break the barrier. “We're okay, right?”

“We're okay,” Derek says, nodding. Stiles nods back.

“I'm beginning to think that 'okay' is, I don't know, like the opposite of our safe word?” Stiles says, thumb rubbing at the crease of Derek's elbow. “I swear I'm close to developing a Pavlovian reaction to the word. Instant boner. It's incredibly embarrassing.”

“You're ridiculous,” Derek says, shaking Stiles' grip from his arm. He tries to step over the line and gets knocked firmly back, landing on his ass on the road.

“Right back atcha, champ,” Stiles says, making finger guns at Derek before helping him to his feet. “You guys couldn't just exchange numbers like normal nemeses?”

“Define normal,” Derek says and Stiles bites his lip to hold back a grin.

“Nothing about us is normal,” Stiles allows, turning back to face the line. “That's why I like it.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, bumping Stiles' shoulder with his own. “Me too. Hey.”

“What?” Stiles lifts his eyebrows.

“Antidisestablishmentarianism,” Derek says, waiting for Stiles to get it. Stiles laughs when he does, big and loud, before starting to spell the word. Derek feels his shoulders drop, a weight lifting off him that he didn't even know he was carrying.

**Author's Note:**

> In this story Derek has been cursed to feel physical pain until he has sex with someone. This involves needing to penetrate the person he's having sex with. The thoughts that go through Derek's head are little darker, a little more about power and he's more worried about being out of control. He doesn't force himself on Stiles, though.
> 
> Next Time: Incubus. The demon, not the band.


End file.
